Of Doctors and Alphabets
by dead air space
Summary: The story of Sherlock and John, each chapter starting with a different letter of the alphabet...yeah I suck at summaries :P
1. A is for Alphabet Spaghetti

**Hello slash friends. I'm back! I hope you all had a brilliant X mas and New Years. :D xxx. Anyway I'm writing this to get back into writing things. Do not despair I will update Kings of Infinite Space soon...honestly. Basically this story is a serious of drabbles each chapter corresponding to a letter of the alphabet. Hope you like it. **

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**A if for Alphabet Spaghetti **

Sherlock was ill. More ill then he had been in his entire life. It had started of innocently enough, wading into the Thames to collect a key piece of evidence for the latest case, he had thought nothing of it till he was laying on the sofa later with John and he felt slightly dizzy and had a distinctly odd feeling in his nose. That became a sniffle, then full blown flu. He spent the next few days in his pyjamas and blue dressing gown, becoming more and more irritable.

John was the one trying to nurse him back to health, his boyfriend given the impossible task of convincing him that no, he really was not dying.

'Take these' John instructed, trying to hand Sherlock a glass of water and some flu tablets.

'No, they slow me down' Sherlock refused, even we John tried to pin Sherlock down and force him to swallow the tablets, Sherlock simply spat them out.

The flu continued its assault to Sherlock's body. He had a runny nose, a blinding headache, sore throat, he felt sick and lethargic, all he could do all day was lie on the sofa all day with his head in John's lap. The more John tried to force Sherlock to take some medicine the more Sherlock refused.

'You've lost a lot of weight, you really need to eat something' John cooed running his hand through Sherlock's curls. He rooted around the kitchen's cupboards searching through various scientific experiments for something remotely edible.

Sherlock however, was not playing fair. 'You know I cannot eat John, it will slow me down'

'Please Sherlock' He found a loaf of bread and a tin of alphabet spaghetti.

To a chorus of violent coughing he made tea.

'What is this?' Sherlock poked at the spaghetti with the edge of his fork.

'Spaghetti on toast, my mum used to make it for me when I was ill'

'Why is the spaghetti in the shape of letters?' Sherlock asked, genuinely confused.

John shrugged 'It's just a bit of fun Sherlock' He watched as his boyfriend began to play about with the spaghetti pieces.

'F...U...C...Sherlock that is not funny' John scolded, but Sherlock grinned. The food soon turned cold, with the toast becoming soggy under the tomato sauce.

'That's it Sherlock, I've had enough, all I have tried to do the past few days is take care of you, it's impossible!' John folded his arms over his chest in annoyance. Sherlock frowned, he had upset John, he was a difficult man at the best of times and the flu had only made him worse. He continued to move letters about on the toast. When he was finished he pushed the plate along the table so it was in front of John. One slice of toast read 'Sherlock is sorry' the other 'Sherlock loves John' John smiled the 'I think you're mental but all is forgiven' smile. John got out of his chair and fetched the flu tablets and a glass of water.

'Please' he pleaded. Sherlock winced but took the medicine, opening his mouth afterwards so John could see he had swallowed them. They kissed gently and spent the rest of the evening watching crap on TV.


	2. B is for Bendy

**B is for... Bendy**

A lot of people asked John how he and Sherlock got together. Everyone they knew seemed convinced that they were bound to start shagging each other eventually, John even saw money exchange hands when rumours started flying about Scotland Yard, he thought that simply knowing that Sherlock and him were now lovers would be enough, however, for some bizarre reason John couldn't explain, people wanted to know the specifics. John would simply blush and murmur that it was because he found out Sherlock was bendy.

John always knew Sherlock was agile, the way he looked and the way he walked all pointed to a man who was agile, from the way he leapt around London, using roads, railings roofs and the like as his own personal gymnastic equipment. However he was not just agile and quick footed, Sherlock was bendy. When John saw just bendy Sherlock was their relationship went from being flatmates to something a lot more intimate.

It started on a Tuesday, a wet, miserable Tuesday in the middle of January. John was tired, he had a full day at the surgery behind him and was looking forward to relaxing in his favourite armchair with a bottle of beer. John should have known that when you live with Sherlock Holmes, this was never going to happen. Opening the door to 221B he found Sherlock spread out on the floor on top on a white mat with different coloured circles drawn on. His hands and feet stretched out onto the different circles.

'Sherlock are you playing twister?' The idea that Sherlock was playing a kids game in their living room, well, John wasn't sure whether to laugh, or ask what Sherlock had been smoking.

'Ah John, you're back, excellent, can you' He waved a hand at the black dial. He wanted John to take his turn, John picked it up and shrugged, He had lived with Sherlock long enough to know sometimes it was better to not ask questions.

'Left hand green' Sherlock stretched out a left hand, then jumped up and pulled out his phone. He quickly dialled a number and brought the phone to his ear.

'Lestrade, I was right, it was the twister game, arrest them immediately'. He pulled a face and then hung up.

John raised an eyebrow 'care to explain'

'A series of burglaries, Lestrade was stumped, had three suspects, but there was a seemingly random pattern that and no one could figure out , I noticed that all three men had twister in their homes, I realised that this was how they would decide which area of London to strike, each coloured circle correlated to a different area of London. They simply laid a map of London over the matt and let fate decide'

So this was how Sherlock and John ended up having twister in their flat.

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A few days later Sherlock cornered John in the kitchen, he directed John towards the table were brightly coloured liquids stood in various bottles.

'I am conducting an experiment, I need us to smell the fumes these chemicals give off and see what effect it has'

'Why?' John asked.

'A suspect said he got high of the fumes and couldn't remember committing a murder, I need to test this theory, you are about the same height and weight of the suspect'

'And you?'

'Bored'

The first smell didn't really have an effect of John at all, the next made him feel dizzy and he had to hold onto the table to steady himself from the head rush, the third made him positively loopy. It made everything vaguely humorous, and the world burst into life with noise and colour. He couldn't stop giggling, neither could Sherlock, their heads swimming in a cocktail of madness.

'John..John..' Sherlock grabbed John's shoulder and leaned in and then whispered something in his ear but burst out laughing before the sentence was complete.

'What did you say?' John grinned his nose nuzzling itself into Sherlock's ear.

'I said you are really fuckable John'. This made him freeze, even in his drug addled state, having been certain that Sherlock didn't even have a sexuality, now he was referencing sex? And sex with him? Did Sherlock fancy him? Sherlock didn't say anything else on the matter, instead he made John smell some more.

'I know what we should do' John giggled 'We should play twister!' John thought this was a brilliant idea.

'It's a kids game John' Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'We can make it age appropriate, there was an adult version I used to play at medical school, when you fall over you has to take of an item of clothing.' They both giggled, and then set out the twister matt, this took more time then was strictly necessary because they were high, they had very little co ordination and were distracted by all the pretty circles.

Sherlock flicked the dial 'Right hand yellow' he commanded. John leapt onto the white matt but immediately slipped and landed on his side.

'You tripped up, you have to take of an item of clothing.' Sherlock squealed with delight.

'Wait no, that doesn't count' John protested as he stood up, however there was no arguing with the rules and he felt Sherlock's hand tug at his jumper, he felt a rush of cold air rush around his belly as the jumper was pulled upwards, exposing a part of his chest. Sherlock threw the jumper over his head.

'My turn' He handed John the black dial, he flicked it. 'Left hand red' He watched as Sherlock walked onto the matt. He bent down and placed a hand on a red circle. John took his turn.

'Right hand blue' He took his position as far away from Sherlock as he could. Sherlock as so tall and lanky that he took up a lot of room on the matt, so the more they played the more their bodies came closer together. Sherlock couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement as John's body brushed against his. He bit his lip and tried to dismiss what he felt, it was the fumes he thought to himself. They carried on playing until John fell over again, Sherlock couldn't keep his eyes of John as he took off his t shirt. He was confronted with an overwhelming desire to run his hands over John's chest, to play with the slight dusting of hair that covered his belly button. His mouth felt dry.

John couldn't stop watching as Sherlock snaked himself around the matt, he was so bendy yet never lost his balance, he reminded John of a cat. Sherlock was so dam good at twister, John would be naked before Sherlock he just knew it.

'Right hand green' Sherlock pouted. 'I can't reach that' He stretched out and arm then left it for a few seconds before crashing into John. They both laughed.

'Shirt of, now' John said between giggles. Sherlock laughed and tried to undo the buttons of his shirt.

'Oh come here' John moved forward and helped Sherlock take of his shirt, it was discarded next to John's jumper and tee shirt.

A few more spins and Sherlock found himself wrapped round John, who was balancing over him trying not to fall over.

'Right hand red' John instructed, Sherlock did as he was told, stretching his arm he realised he wouldn't be able to hold this position for long. He could already feel his arm begin to shake. This wouldn't do. Sherlock was a lot of things, and ultra competitive was one of them. He also had an overwhelming desire to get John naked. So when John was taking his next turn, he raised his leg and gave a small yet forceful push with his foot. John came crashing down landing on his bum.

'Sherlock that's cheating'

'No it isn't, I'm simply using my initiative, trousers off now' John was down to his underwear. He wanted revenge, when Sherlock was taking his next turn he pushed Sherlock over.

'Very good John' Sherlock chuckled and took of his trousers. So, there they were, playing twister, in their underwear. John took all of Sherlock in, he was skinny but well built, fit and toned after all the miles he spent running around London. He felt the blood rush to his groin. Then tried to think unsexy thoughts, he couldn't play twister with an erection. Sherlock might see, and this would lead to awkward questions. The main one being that is was common knowledge John was straight. John couldn't help wanting Sherlock, feeling that they were two puzzle pieces who fit perfectly together. Over the past few months that Sherlock had been living with him, he had burrowed under his skin. He had come and turned John's life upside down, sure he was mad, but contemplating life without Sherlock was like walking through a desert with no water, he had gone from having a life where nothing happened to him, to feeling, for the first time in years that he had air in his lungs. This didn't mean he loved him, did it? They were just good friends. And yet, for the first time John felt he had caught sight of a great big elephant in their room, of course Mycroft, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Donovan, Anderson, heck even their milkman, would probably know already, but John was English, and a man, these two things mean suppression of emotion was a speciality.

'Left hand blue' and John's mind was back in the game, Sherlock darted under John and felt John's breath on his back. Sherlock knew John has an erection, of course he did, he was Sherlock Holmes, he saw through everyone and everything in seconds, so there was no way he would miss his housemate being painfully hard while playing twister. He wondered if he should act on it, he had always wondered about love and sex, why it was so highly regarded, but Sherlock had never found anyone he could stand to be around long enough to take anything to the next level, until John that is. He wanted to know what John tasted like, how John's skin would feel against his lips. Sherlock was still high enough to lack impulse control. He leaned forward and kissed John's back, then ran his tongue over the grooves of John's spine, he tasted of soap and a sent that was pure John.

Sherlock let out a small groan. John turned around, Sherlock pushing him down so he lay flat on the floor, the upper half of Sherlock's body was looming over him, pinning him in place , he felt Sherlock's eyes meet his, the sensation felt like a hole was being burnt into his skull.

'Sherlock' He whispered, purely to break the awkward silence that surrounded them, he looked deep into Sherlock's pupils and saw something he had never expected to find. In that moment his entire world changed. John closed his eyes, wanting to shut out the rest of the world, he breathed in deeply and then felt his lips meet Sherlock's. The contact made both men tremble. John felt Sherlock's hands through his hair. There was a stillness and delicateness about the kiss, however it soon deepened, John pushing his tongue in and explored the other mans mouth. Both men fought for dominance over the kiss, soon they pulled away fighting for air. Sherlock was right, breathing was over-rated.

'Sherlock' John murmured for the second time as Sherlock buried his face in John's neck.

'I've waited for this, for a very long time John' He breathed against the smooth skin '34 years to be exact, except I didn't quite realise I had been waiting for this until I kissed you.' He pushed his lips against John's again, he felt as if he couldn't breathe unless he was touching John, he slid his hands along John's stomach, then teasing his nipples with his fingers, then round his shoulder to the small of his back, finally resting on the waistband of John's boxer shorts.

'You don't have to' John tried to reassure him, aware of his lack of experience, but Sherlock was insistent.

'Show me John, show me how you want to be touched' He pulled at the waistband of John's underwear and slid them down his legs, he gave John a wide eyed look, the same look he had when he was on a case, one that had found something new and fascinating, his eyes lit up and his brain came into life, never resting until it fully understood what lay before him.

'Like this' John felt Sherlock flinch as he took his hand and place it on his now aching cock. John wondered if the flinch meant he wanted to stop, but Sherlock kissed him again, hard on the lips, his way of reassuring John that he wanted to continue. John's cock was now fully erect, dripping pre cum, it was bigger than Sherlock expected. Using his hand over Sherlock's, he guided his hand. Tentatively at first, then once they had settled into a rhythm it grew in confidence, with harder, more forceful movements.

Sherlock had never brought anyone to orgasm before, not even himself, he had a few hard on's when at university, but they were ignored, along with the rest of his emotions. However this, this was _glorious_. John whimpered at first, then when he hardened his movements, he started to groan and writhe underneath him, Sherlock had never felt like he had so much power in all his life. John arched his back and began to open and close his mouth. Sherlock had never seen a sight like it. John kept moaning his name, then groaned as a hot liquid spilled out and covered his hand and John's stomach. They both lay there panting. John felt as if he was in no man's land. He couldn't find his way back, to how things were, one wrong move and he would be blown to bits, he felt horribly exposed.

'What now Sherlock?'

'Well, the twister man should wipe clean, I suggest we take a shower and...'

John could only laugh, 'No, I mean, what now, for us?'

'There is a us?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'Not right now there isn't, but, do you think there could be?'

'John, will you go on a date with me' Sherlock made little air quotes when saying the word 'date'

There was a long pause, 'Yes, I think I will'

'Excellent, shower time, then let's go on our date' Sherlock jumped up and grabbed a towel that lay on a chair, throwing it at John impatiently.

'What, right now'

'No time like the present John'

'Wait but what about your experiment? The murder the guy couldn't remember doing?'

'Oh that, oh that's not important'

'What do you mean not important' John pulled his boxers back up his legs followed by his trousers 'Nothing is more important than your cases' he hissed as he did his belt back up. Sherlock just shrugged his shoulders and made a theatrical gesture of checking his watch, he couldn't understand why John was wasting time asking such silly questions.

'Wait a minute, there is no murder, you lied to me because you wanted to get us high'

Sherlock made another theatrical gesture, rolling his eyes this time 'Curious results don't you think' He winked at John, then sped towards the direction of the bathroom, John could only grab the towel and follow.

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**If anyone has any ideas for C I would love to hear them! Reviews are love. xx**


	3. C is for Coat

**Hello everyone, me again. This chapter is quite angsty but I hope you like it. A big thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapters. Also a big happy birthday to Atlin Merrick. Have a super day hun xxxxxx**

**C is for Coat**

It had been two hours. Two hours. 120 minutes.7,200 seconds. Sherlock had paced around Regents Park until he found a suitable bench, he sat down and thrust his hands in his pockets kicking small stones with his foot. He pouted and checked his watch again, it was late but he couldn't go back home, going back home would be admitting defeat; John probably hadn't even started to worry yet. He looked around him, just the occasional dog walker and jogger.

'_I cannot be with you when you are being like this'_

That stung, Sherlock replayed the scene over and over but he still didn't understand what he had done wrong.

John refused to worry, it had been two hours, and nothing could happen to someone in two hours. Could it? Sherlock would be back soon enough. Besides, he was right, it was all Sherlock's fault for acting so dam childish about it. All he had to do was apologise, say he would never do it again, offer to make it up to John somehow, beg forgiveness, to actually acknowledge he had done something wrong. But no, he had stormed of like a child, if this is how he wanted to act then John would let him.

Sherlock couldn't go back, going back to 221B when John would still be awake, that was somehow the equivalent of admitting he was in the wrong. He didn't want to go back so soon, it was almost as if he wanted to make John worry. He just didn't understand, why should today be so important? He had cases to work on. Things to do. Why should the fact that he and John had been together a certain amount of time be so important?

Six months, exactly six months he had been with Sherlock. It was their anniversary, it was a cause for celebration, he had explained this to Sherlock, that even if it wasn't that important to Sherlock it meant a lot to him, and as his boyfriend he should know this. He had made plans, they were going to go out, together, go to that new place Sarah had told him about. He had even bought new underwear for the occasion. It had all been planned out. John would come back from work, have a shower, get changed and they would go out, except when he came home Sherlock wasn't there. He thought nothing of it, he sang in the shower feeling as if nothing could bring down his happy mood, that was until he was dressed and ready to go out and Sherlock was still not back yet, so he waited and waited and waited.

He had been so pleased when he had come on, Lestrade had needed him right away, the case he had been working on for weeks was drawing to an end. It had resulted in an exciting climax. He couldn't wait to run home and tell John all about it. How the suspect had almost got away but Sherlock had outwitted him. It was all so exciting, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He knew that John had wanted to go out for some anniversary celebration but he was needed. He thought John would understand. John should have understood, he should know that nothing was more important to Sherlock then the work. They could still go out, there was still time, did it really matter that he was a few hours late? Obviously it did to John, that's how the stupid argument started, resulting in Sherlock storming out.

Just for once, John wanted Sherlock's attention to be on him, to be on their relationship. He wanted to know that he mattered to Sherlock, that he actually counted. This was just another incident in a long line of incidents that made him believe quite the opposite.

'_It's just a stupid custom, so what that there has been a certain amount of time that had passed between our first kiss and now. Why does it matter?'_

'_It matters to me'_

John was wrong, John was so very, very wrong. Sherlock shivered slightly, in all the drama he had forgotten his coat. He wondered what he could do, he couldn't go home but he couldn't stay all night on this bench. He could find somewhere, get warm. He could go for a drink, maybe find something stronger. London was certainly alive with opportunities for someone with money to burn, time to spare and a very low moral conscience, but Sherlock sighed, he didn't want any of that, he wanted John. He always wanted John.

Sherlock was an idiot, it all his over dramatic storming out he had forgotten his coat. He would be cold right now. John brought the coat up to his nose and gave it a small sniff, he enjoyed the feeling of closeness it gave him, having Sherlock's scent fill his nostrils. He wrapped the coat round himself, threading his arms through the sleeves. He felt so close to Sherlock, the coat was so much a part of Sherlock that it was as if he had never left. Maybe he had over reacted, do anniversaries really matter that much? He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a nearby mirror, the coat was miles too big for him, in fact he looked quite silly. He didn't feel silly, he felt whole again.

He had over reacted, storming out like that, John had made so many adjustments for him, such as making sure there was room in the fridge for body parts, and not minding Mycroft spying on them, maybe he needed to make sacrifices to. He left the bench and made his way home, home to John, it was getting late now, very late, all he wanted to do was go home.

He acted out his apology in his head, wondering if John would stay up and wait for him, he would promise John that he would try harder, and he would be the best boyfriend John could ever wish for. Charging up the stairs, he called John name but received no answer, he opened the door and saw a lump curled up on their sofa asleep. He realised the lump was John, wrapped up in a coat which was way too big for him. His coat. John was wearing his coat. He couldn't help but stare at this image, he didn't know why, but seeing John curled up in his coat, asleep peacefully, well he just knew everything would be all right.


	4. D is for Dates

D is for Dates. 

John had always prided himself on being a brave man, the type of man people could count on, courageous and reliable, the type of man who would keep a cool head under intense situations. John's career in bravery began at the tender age of six, when he stood up to some older kids in the park, who were trying to steal his penny sweets. John, who had been saving up all week to buy a bag of fizzy coca cola bottles and sugar mice, wasn't having any of it. He did an impression of his father's stern voice, the one he used whenever Harry or him refused to have a bath, or eat their greens, or go to bed, and standing as tall as he could, told those bullies to go and pick on someone their own size, when this didn't work he hit them as hard as he could on the nose, and John was never bothered again. So from this day onwards, John was brave, heck he even invaded Afghanistan, not alone admittedly, but it was still a bloody brave thing to do. However, there was one situation where all of John's bravery left him, where he turned into a mass of wobbly knees and sweaty palms, and that was taking Sherlock Holmes on a date.

It was a few days after what John would forever call 'the naked twister incident' where John sprung the idea of dating to a rather bemused Sherlock. They were still in that complicated, worrisome time where a relationship was new, so brand spanking new in fact that neither was sure if they were even in a relationship.

'And what do we have to do, on this date' Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

'I told you Sherlock, a date is where two people who like each other go out and have fun'

'So, you like me then?' Sherlock raised another eyebrow.

'Sherlock I pushed my tongue down your throat then let you wank me off, I think we have gone past simply liking each other.'

And so Sherlock Holmes and John Watson went on their first date, and it was a total, unmitigated disaster.

Sarah had been raving about this new French thriller that had just come out at their local cinema so John, being the eternal optimist, decided to take Sherlock along. Everything was going rather well, they bought their tickets and some popcorn, clearly Sarah had told half of London how good this film was because the cinema was packed, but they found two seats with a good view of the screen, Sherlock was quiet during the adverts and the trailers. Everything was going so well, John should have known that it would never last.

John sat engrossed in the film, Sarah was right, it was amazing, the only noise came from the occasional rustling of popcorn. Then John felt something hit his cheek, then another something landed on the back of his neck and fell down his shirt.

'Sherlock are you throwing popcorn at me'

'Bored' He threw another puffed piece of corn, this time hitting John on the nose.

'I'm trying to watch the film' He hissed as quietly as he could, trying not to disturb the people around him.

'Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh' He heard a few voices hiss at him.

'Oh come on John, it's obvious his girlfriend is on the side of the bad guys, she is working as a mole and the password is the nursery rhyme he was singing to his son' John sighed, a few people in ear shot groaned, obviously annoyed that Sherlock had ruined the big twist for them as well.

'Thanks for ruining the film for me Sherlock'

'Good, means I can now have your full attention' He grabbed the back of John's neck and then placed a kiss on John's lips. John's lips were slippery from all the popcorn he had consumed and Sherlock quite enjoyed the taste, licking the salt of John's lips with his tongue.

John quickly lost interest in what was going on, on screen, 'how dare Sherlock have this effect on me he thought, 'I'm a grown man and here I am snogging in a darkened cinema like some teenager'. He bit his tongue and tried to hide the moan that was threatening to escape his lips. Sherlock continued his assault, tracing kisses along John's jaw and then nibbling at the soft exposed skin on John's neck.

'mmmm' John moaned slightly.

'Shhhhhh' Was the cinema's response.

Sherlock was only encouraged, even though the cinema was dark he could sense John's flushed face. John felt a hand begin to stroke the inside of his thigh. The hand crept upwards until it reached the waistband of John boxers, then followed the line of the elastic, John began to breathe heavily, Sherlock still nibbling at John's neck expertly and as quietly as he could undid John's belt and trouser buttons. John could only beg for some sort of mercy as Sherlock cupped him then expertly began to stroke him. He pushed his hand into his mouth and bit down on his thumb, hoping he wouldn't cry out in public.

John was in ecstasy, despite this being so, so wrong, he couldn't help but feel excited, Sherlock continued to stroke him, harder and harder, John instinctively began to arch his back, he was close, he was going to tip over the edge soon he knew it.

Or at least he would have if at that moment an usher didn't shine a light in their faces and bark in a stern voice

'We've been getting some complaints about you two' They were kicked out, in front of everyone, luckily John managed to find enough time to do his trousers back up, and banned from the cinema. John had never been so embarrassed in his whole life. He vowed never to take Sherlock to the cinema again.

* * *

John was never one for giving up, so for their next date he decided to take Sherlock to a new restaurant that had opened a few streets away from their flat, it promised an authentic Italian menu. It was a Friday night so the place was pretty busy, John and Sherlock were shown to their table and each handed a menus. John ordered some red wine. He began to nibble on a breadstick as he flicked through the list of main courses.

'Are you actually going to eat something' he asked Sherlock as the waitress arrived with their wines.

'That depends, what will you offer me in return'

'Are you bribing me?' John protested

'Perhaps' Jon was about to argue back, you cannot bribe someone with starvation, but hearing a faint cry from Sherlock's stomach, he admitted defeat.

'Ok Sherlock, what do you want' Sherlock smiled.

'I will eat something if you promise to make that really adorable squeaking sound when you next come'

John, would had chosen the wrong moment to take a swig on wine, immediately began to choke.

'Sherlock not in public! Someone might hear us' He blushed, he didn't squeak when he came? Did he?

Sherlock waved an arm 'Oh don't worry John, these people are far worse than us,' he leaned over to a couple sitting at a table on the right 'Excuse me sir but are you aware that your wife is having an affair and is not sure if the baby she is carrying is yours?' Before he even let that sink in he turned to another couple sitting at a table on their left.

'This man here John is gay and is about to come out to his mum.' The man immediately went bright red and the mother covered her mouth with her hand.

'Good gracious, Thomas is this true?'

'Sorry mother, you were not supposed to find out this way, I say, how dare you!' The man scolded Sherlock.

'Oh don't worry, John here has recently come out and he is having a wonderful time, aren't you John' He felt the entire restaurants eyes on him and began to wish the ground would swallow him whole. He tried to hide face in his menu.

Sherlock flicked through the menu again and then stood up grabbing his coat.

'Come on John we are leaving, this place has mice in the kitchen'

* * *

John wondered what he was doing wrong, dating someone should not be this hard. He wondered if he was putting too much pressure on Sherlock, so decided for their next date to do something simple. He took Sherlock for a stroll around the park. It was early spring so the park was beginning to burst into life, walking hand in hand through the park John felt he could skip, John Watson was a happy man.

His happiness lasted less than twenty minutes. They passed a lake and a swan who stood in the middle of the path, blocking the men from continuing their journey forwards. At first John though nothing of it, he tried to cross the swan, but the bird was having none of it. It started to beat it's wings and hiss at Sherlock, who like the brave man he was, ran away, the swan running after him continuing to flap it wings and occasionally bite at the air around Sherlock's heels.

'John, save me John' Sherlock cried

Sherlock didn't look back till he was safely inside 221B.

* * *

John tossed and turned in his bed that night, surely dating someone shouldn't be this bloody hard, even if he was going on dates with Sherlock Holmes. Then an idea came into his mind, he suddenly realised where he was going wrong, and he knew now exactly how to date one Sherlock Holmes.

'Where are you taking me now?'

'It's a surprise'

'I don't like surprises John'

'You will like this one'

The taxi driver dropped them of outside a house just off Clapham Common. Sherlock's heart leapt when he saw a roll of police tape cornering off the area.

'I realised that I was trying to take on all these conventional dates, cinema, dinner walk in the park, it's what normal couples do, but we are not a normal couple, so I decided that I needed to arrange a Sherlock friendly date, sent a text to Lestrade asking if he had any cases and here we are'

Sherlock beamed at his boyfriend 'John, you arranged a date at a crime scene?' John nodded and Sherlock punched the air, flinging his arms around the smaller man in a big bear hug.

'Put him down Sherlock' Came a voice behind him, it was Lestrade 'We need you, male, 35 years old, possible suicide except he didn't leave a note and showed no signs of depression.'

Sherlock grabbed John's hand and led him inside. During their 'date' they laughed, joked, talked about everything and anything, shared stories, all while Sherlock was pacing around the house, making deductions and generally being his usual, brilliant self.

It was the best date John had ever had.

* * *

**I would love to hear any suggestions for E. Reviews are love. xxxxxxx**


	5. E is for Experiments

**I honestly cannot thank you enough for all the support/ ideas everyone has given me. I really appreciate it. xxxx**

**XMillieX CCTV footage of Sherlock being chased by a swan is in the post especially for you ;)**

* * *

**E is for experiments **

Sherlock's love of experiments began when he was eight years old, it was his birthday and his uncle gave him his very first chemistry set. To this day he could still vividly recall the way he felt when opening his present, the excitement as he stared at the test tubes and substances. Spending all his energy and focus on it. He loved conducting the experiments, setting it all up, measuring it all out, writing down the results in an exercise book. This love would follow him for the rest of his life.

Experiments were easy, even the dangerous ones. He would think of a hypothesis, then think of an experiment to prove or disprove it. Theories wizzed round his head every second of every day. When he wasn't on a case 221B was either being blown apart, or body parts were being stored in fridges. Smells and stains being hidden, Mrs Hudson's walls never stood a chance.

Sherlock loved experiments because he was perfectly in control. He wasn't in control of the outcome, even Sherlock Holmes couldn't bend the laws of chemistry or biology or physics, but the method, the method was entirely his.

Sherlock was a man of science, of cold reasoning, what he did wasn't magic, he saw what everyone else saw, except unlike them he observed. Was able to put his observations into a narrative. Ever since he was a small boy he felt entirely safe in the world of science. It was mathematically, logical, it followed a certain pattern, he understood all the variables, everything was either black or white, up or down.

Sherlock didn't understand emotions because they didn't follow the carefully constructed rules that science did. People would change every second, you couldn't shove them in a test tube, or observe them under a microscope, or slap them in a Petri dish (not the living one's anyway). He had always ignored emotions, he was a sociopath after all. He didn't understand love, he could just about wrap his head around anger, or rage but love? To him love was either the feeling of being quite fond of someone (and he could do without that thank you very much) or it was a fancier name someone would give to lust. Love, it was simply a mixture of chemicals rushing round the brain, it was nothing more then that, good sex that was turning people into idiots.

Then one day, quite by accident, he found himself in the middle of his greatest experiment, he himself fell in love. It all happened quite by accident, there was a chance meeting, a new flatmate and a dead cab driver, in that order, and Sherlock Holmes was in love.

At first he treated John Watson like every one of his other experiments, he thought about it logically, tested theories, 'If I do this what would John do?' 'Does John like being touched here' 'John moaned when I kiss him here' 'John will like this' 'John will not like that' 'John has tea for breakfast' 'John likes cricket', but dammit John kept doing something no experiment had ever done to Sherlock, he kept surprising him.

John kept changing, he was never fixed, he kept Sherlock guessing, never being able to deduce his next move. Sherlock found he had no control over how John made him feel, how John made him think. No matter how many times he thought he knew everything about John, something new would come along and catch him totally of guard.

The weirdest thing was Sherlock like it, he liked the butterflies that came whenever he saw John's face, he liked the feeling of John sleeping against him, liked how John's lips would mould around his. Love was not mathematically and cold, it followed no set pattern, it was scary almost brutal, it was unflinching and honest and sometimes Sherlock wondered if it was all worth it.

Then he would look at John, and sometimes he would catch the way John stared at him, and he knew he had found where he belonged.

John was all he needed.

John Watson, he was an experiment that would last a lifetime.


	6. F is for Freddie

**F is for Freddie.**

John always looked so peaceful when he was asleep, Sherlock bathed in the morning light, the light from the gaps in the curtains casting them both in a cold blue light, John who originally started off the night lying on Sherlock's chest, was currently wedged under his left armpit, his nose in Sherlock's ribs. Sherlock was trying to stay as still as possible. John had been working overtime at the surgery, he had been working far too hard lately, he needed sleep.

Sherlock felt John stir and mumble in his sleep.

'mmmppppphhhh' he muffled, Sherlock chuckled.

'Mmmpph Freddie...Freddie...come here Freddie...love you Freddie'

Sherlock felt suddenly very very sick, his guts started to churn and he felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. John was dreaming, he could tell by his breathing and REM movement, John had never spoken about anyone called Freddie, he wasn't a friend or family member. John was hiding something from him he knew it.

* * *

Sherlock was in a foul mood all day, he snapped at John when he was having breakfast, didn't pay attention to Lestrade's calls. Instead he just sat by the windowsill.

'Love you Freddie'

John was in love with another man, Sherlock concluded, Sherlock was a man who saw through everyone and everything in seconds, didn't realise his boyfriend was cheating on him.

The thought of another man kissing John, his John, it was bad enough that John had passed lovers. He knew he was a difficult man to be with at the best of times, but this? He didn't think John was the type. He was the type to shoot a man dead to save Sherlock, not cheat on him.

Did Freddie make John laugh like he did? Excite him like he did? Turn him on like he did? Make him moan like he did? He imagined a well built, good looking guy, who was funny, kind, everything Sherlock wasn't. He knew this wasn't John's type, if he even had a 'type', but he couldn't help but imagine him as the perfect boyfriend.

He wiped a tear away from his cheek. John came back from working late, again. Sherlock so badly wanted to believe he had been working late, he tried to get images of another man's hands on John's but it was no use.

Sherlock didn't speak to John for the whole evening, it was as if he was trying to drive John away, it felt vulnerable, which he hated, he felt so exposed. It was a matter of pride though, he didn't want Sherlock to know how badly he was hurting, he wasn't sure how to act in a situation like this, so he went back into default Sherlock mode, he acted like a total bastard.

Sherlock was acting so strangely, John would try and cuddle on the sofa but Sherlock went stiff in his arms. He would try and kiss him but Sherlock would turn away. He tried to crawl into Sherlock's bed, but Sherlock just got up and left.

After three days John finally found enough courage to confront Sherlock.

'What's wrong Sherlock?'

Sherlock looked away and tried to walk away but John grabbed his arm. 'Answer me' he hissed.

'It's okay John, I know'

'Know what?

'I know about you and..look, I've come to terms with it, so should you, this, relationship, it was too good to last wasn't it? Though I don't understand why you couldn't just tell me it was over rather than seeing someone behind my back' Sherlock seethed, all the frustration and anger he had felt over the past few days came pouring out of him.

'What the hell you going on about?'

'I know about you and Freddie'

'Freddie' John repeated.

'Yes, you were dreaming and saying another man's name, that's how I found out. I can move out if you would rather, I suppose living together after this will be too awkward for you'

To his absolute surprise and horror, John started to laugh.

'What's so funny?'

John grabbed his arm and led him to his bedroom, then plonked him down on the bed. This was it, Sherlock thought, I'm being dumped. Though why John was acting so calm about the whole thing he didn't know. Maybe he didn't know John at all.

John opened the wardrobe door and pulled something out, then showed it to Sherlock, it was a blue teddy bear. Battered and bruised, obviously it belonged to a child, an eye was hanging out of place, held only by a piece of string, there was stuffing coming out from a rip in the neck.

'Sherlock, meet Freddie, my oldest and dearest friend' Sherlock suddenly felt very stupid.

'So Freddie is your teddy bear' Sherlock beamed at him, then they both started to laugh.

'Did you honestly think I would cheat on you?' John slipped an arm round Sherlock's waist.

'No, I didn't think you were the type, but I felt so..jealous, that clouded up by judgement'

'Welcome to the human race Sherlock' John teased, then his voice dropped to a serious tone 'I love you Sherlock, next time just talk to me about it' John gave him a quick kiss on the nose.

Sherlock nodded before playing with Freddie's loose eye 'I'm sure I can fix him up, Sherlock's teddy bear hospital, as an apology for being so stupid'. John pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips and began to tickle him. Sherlock started to howl with laughter.

'Oh you owe me so much more than one sown on eye'

'No John, stop, please stop' Sherlock wriggled the crashed his lips to Johns, being proved wrong had never felt so good.


	7. G is for Gag

G is for Gag.

'You had a sandwich for lunch today, cheese and tomato' Sherlock licked his lips then went back to kissing John. 'Too much coffee John' He mumbled then kissed along John's jaw line. Slipping his hands under John's shirt then playing with the buttons, when he peeled his shirt off he began to run his fingers through John's dirty blond hair.

'Your hair still has shampoo in it, didn't wash it all out properly'

Sherlock had used up all the hot water in his extraordinarily long shower, meaning when it was his turn the hot water ran out halfway through.

'You are worried about Harry, been checking your phone ever since you called her' John was trying to concentrate on how Sherlock felt of him and didn't want to be reminded of his sister, Sherlock was right of course, he had called Harry to wish her a happy birthday only to find her unbelievably drunk, which though wasn't uncommon, was when it was early afternoon. He kept trying to arrange a meeting with her, but she never picked up her phone, or replied to his texts, so he spent most of him time staring at his phone, hoping she would get in touch.

Finally he got Sherlock's shirt off, running his hands down the younger man's stomach, then took his left nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue round it till it was a hard bud.

'Work was hard for you, you have had a tough day, coming straight back home and dragging me to bed not even saying hello. Scratches round your arm, small though, maybe from a child, trying to administer a jab which it didn't want so fought back, not to mention the flu outbreak'

Again true, he had spent the entire day knee deep in snotty, runny noses, coughing, it was disgusting and he was fed up, hence why as soon as he came home he grabbed Sherlock and pulled him towards the bedroom. John pulled at his own clothes in clumsy but determined movements. He was frustrated, had had a tough day and was intending on shagging his frustrations away, if only Sherlock would stop talking. He grunted slightly as he ripped Sherlock's trousers off, Sherlock was only half hard but John didn't mind, he was usually a slow and attentive lover, making sure Sherlock was worked up and begging for his touch before they actually had sex, this time though, he didn't care, he just wanted to feel Sherlock, wanted to be inside him and forget all about his day. After yanking of his trousers he rolled Sherlock over and grabbed the lube that lay on the bedside table.

'No foreplay, must have been a really hard day'. John pushed a finger inside him opening him up before adding a second.

'That's strange' Sherlock panted 'Normally you spend ages doing that, you didn't even attempt to find my prostate, so you obviously just want to open me up rather than making me feel good, that's not like you John, not like you at all. Must have been a terrible day and you want to fuck away your troubles' That was enough, John left Sherlock on his bed, naked, he had enough of his constant chattering, he just wanted to shag.

'John' Sherlock called after him.

John came back a few minutes later with Sherlock's blue silk scarf, he wrapped it round the detectives mouth.

'That's better' John sighed then poured the lube into his hand.

'mmmmmmmppppphhhhhhhh'

John guided himself in, as Sherlock's muscles clenched around him, he found himself immediately forgetting what a terrible day he had had. He began to thrust inside Sherlock, bucking his hips back and forth.

Sherlock groaned, the sound muffled by the scarf only made John even more turned on, he came, hard, then rolled off out of breath. His day was suddenly looking up.


	8. H is for Heaven

**H is for Heaven **

'Do you believe in heaven Sherlock?'

John asked this question, quite out of the blue, one day when they were lying in bed one lazy Sunday morning. It was a stupid question, of course he didn't, Sherlock was an atheist, the biggest atheist that there was. He didn't believe in god or angels or any of that. He believed in science and that heaven was something people believed in because they were scared of death. He believed in life, here on earth and that there was nothing else. He was surprised John was asking him, John was at least agnostic and he thought his own beliefs on such questions were obvious.

John had had so many brushes with death since meeting Sherlock, dreaming about that night at the pool and waking up in a cold sweat that all he found all the fears he had in the army, about what would happen to him coming flooding back. When he was strapped to that bomb vest, the same cold fear that gripped him when he had been shot, even when they had both survived he couldn't shake these feelings of, the worry was always at the back to his mind.

'No John, I believe that you have a specified time on Earth, then you die, then there is nothing'

John sighed and went back to nuzzling into his neck his hot breath warming the side of Sherlock's neck.

'Does that bother you, that there is no afterlife?'

'No, why would it, I have everything I need right here' he poked John playfully in his chest 'There is no god, no heaven, no hell, only what we have right here' He grabbed John's chest and placed it above his heart.

'Then what do you believe in Sherlock? If you don't believe in god? '

Sherlock paused then drew in a deep breath 'You John, I believe in you, and I believe in love, our love I mean and when I die, I will make sure that my last thoughts are of you and I will be at peace' He kissed John's head.

There was a long pause, Sherlock assumed John was dozing.

'Sherlock'

'Yes'

'So will I Sherlock' He knew he would never fear death again, that when he was faced with the inevitable he would close his eyes and picture Sherlock's face. John snuggled in Sherlock's chest and went back to dozing, it was a Sunday morning after all.

'Sherlock, if there is a god' he was interrupted by a small snort from Sherlock, he rolled his eyes 'if there is a god I would ask him not to touch a hair on your head, and leave you exactly as you are, and I would summon all the angels and make them watch over you, and if there is an afterlife I would try and find a way back to you, direct you back into my arms' There was another long pause, John expected a lecture on how he was so wrong, on how he was being an idiot and to shut up and go back to sleep. Instead a very small voice whispered into his ear.

'Promise John?'

'I promise Sherlock'

'So will I John, I promise'

They said nothing more on the matter.


	9. I is for Ikea

**Again thank you to all the lovely reviews. I don't deserve you guys so hugs all round. This chapter is pure fluff, fluffy fluff fluff fluff and frothier then a cappuccino, enjoy. **

**I is for Ikea**

'Would you like the good news or the bad news?' Sherlock addressed John one day.

'Good news' he hoped this would soften the blow for the eventual 'I've accidentally started a nuclear war or I may have made our flat uninhabitable' or whatever else constituted as bad news in the Sherlock Holmes handbook.

'Well the good news is that I love you, very very much'

'And the bad news?'

'Well. In order to solve the case, a very tricky and complicated case I might add, I may have blown up our bookshelf'

* * *

It was his day off and John could think of a million things he would rather be doing then traipsing round Ikea looking for a new bookshelf. The last one currently lying in a million pieces in their wheelie bin. Walking round the minimalist designs with other bored looking members of the public, whose other halves had promised them they just needed some new spoons but where now mentally replacing all their furniture. He couldn't believe he was missing the cricket for this.

'Why is everything so Swedish?'

'Sherlock it's Ikea, of course everything is Swedish'

'Why does everything have to have a name? It's furniture'

'I don't know Sherlock'

'Tan line around the ring finger, that man is recently divorced, kitting out his new bachelor pad I reckon' John just wanted to buy a new bookshelf and get out of their, but Sherlock was seeing this as an opportunity to hone his particular skill.

Something told John this was going to be the start of a really long day.

* * *

'Sherlock put that book down'

'Let me finish this paragraph'

'But it's in Swedish' Sherlock responded with an 'I fail to see your point' expression.

'You can read Swedish, of course you can' John muttered to himself.

Walking past the bed's John should have sensed what was coming, he was an army boy after all, he mentally scolded himself for being so easy to surprise. Sherlock pushed his body weight against John's through his hip, the man was a lot stronger then he looked. John landed on one of the bed's and Sherlock began to tickle him.

'Sherlock, no get of' Sherlock being a 6ft something toddler, thought that using the display beds to tickle John was perfectly acceptable behaviour. John wriggled but Sherlock pinned him in place by straddling his hips. John kept trying to escape those hands. John managed to grab Sherlock's hands and clasp them together then rolled them over so he was now on top of Sherlock, he couldn't resist crushing his lips to Sherlock's, then pulling away when his brain suddenly remembered where he was. Staring down at Sherlock his body responded to how it usually did when Sherlock was underneath him on a bed, shit, it was all right for Sherlock, he could hide his under that long coat, John couldn't. He jumped up off the bed before things got any worse, which of course, they did. There was a loud cracking sound from the bed, which Sherlock scoffed at

'Look how flimsy the beds are, we would break this within minutes' He had sex on the brain now and since he was becoming more and more sexually adventurous with each passing day, John decided not to risk being ravaged in public on a display bed by the world's only consulting detective. He would never live it down, Lestrade still hadn't forgotten the shag they had at in his office which Sherlock had insisted was locked but not certainly was not.

'Bookshelves, now'

They finally left Ikea with a modest black bookshel, no frills, just a simple bookcase that would fit in with the rest of the decor in their flat. Sherlock frowned when he saw the brown box.

'You mean we have to assemble it ourselves?'

'Yes Sherlock'

* * *

When they finally got back to 221B John had already used up all his energy on the shopping trip, so he quite fancied a cup of tea and a sit down, Sherlock however insisted on assembling it right there and then, he tore open the box like a child on Christmas morning, then set about trying to assemble it.

'Sherlock we need to read the instructions' John insisted

'Boring'

John ignored him and grabbed the leaflet that had been discarded by his lover.

'Fine I will supervise' He tried to tell Sherlock what to do, which but went where, but it fell on deaf ears.

'You are doing it wrong' John was fast losing his patience.

'No I am not' Sherlock pouted

'Yes you are that shelf is upside down' John waved an arm but Sherlock gave a casual shrug of the shoulders.

'Design flaw, I corrected it, it's much better this way'

'Fine' John had already decided none of his stuff was going on this bookshelf, nothing breakable anyway.

'Insert rod a into slot b'

'Now now John, I'm trying to assemble our new bookshelf don't be so kinky'

'It's what it says in the instructions'

'Really? My god those Swedes'

'You have a screw loose'

'Really John that is not very nice. You are supposed to be my boyfriend'

'I meant the bookcase Sherlock, though now that you mention it' John was cut off from finishing by one very stern look.

'Do you think Mycroft is spying on us?'

'Yes, and a fat lot of good he is, he could at least offer to help us'

'I think we are today's entertainment'

They continued to bicker and argue, John wondered if assembling flat pack furniture was a leading cause of divorce. Maybe they should sue.

The sun was setting when the bookcase was finally complete. Sherlock looked so smug as if he has just painted the Sistine Chapel rather than some Ikea furniture.

'Skull takes pride of place' Sherlock insisted, then the rest of the case was filled with books and medical journals and other paraphernalia.

* * *

To his great surprise the bookshelf stayed up, it was surprisingly sturdy and well built considering it had been put up by Sherlock. A month later John came back from another hard day's work at the surgery.

'Ah John, er there has been a slight disaster, only I was doing an experiment and over estimated the amount of gun powder needed '

'Oh no, the bookshelf'

'Oh no John the bookshelf is fine' John breathed a sigh of relief, but something else caught his eye.

'Sherlock what the fuck have you done to our coffee table'

And back to Ikea they went.


	10. J is for Jumpers

**Again thank you for the reviews they are a joy to read, even though they make me blush..a lot xxxxx**

**J for Jumpers**

It seemed impossible for a man to be defined by something so trivial as an item of clothing, but in many ways John was his jumpers. His whole being was embodied in those strips of material. They provided him with protection from the outside world. Only Sherlock really knew what was underneath. He pulled them on in the morning, his own personal armour against the world, and they were peeled off in the evening, sometimes by him but mostly by Sherlock.

John loved his jumpers. They were warm and cuddly and they felt part of him. His first jumper was a gift from his mother one Christmas, at first he bemoaned (to himself of course, he gave a Oscar deserving display of how much he adored it to her face) the lack of originality in the gift, a jumper, how boring, but once he started wearing it he found he couldn't stop, it felt like a second skin, the next was a gift from Harry for his birthday 'You really suit them', and he couldn't stop, people began to associate him with that look 'No jumper today John?' 'Have you seen the weather forecast today John? Better get your jumpers out', and this rubbed off on him, soon his wardrobe were filled with them.

Sherlock loved John's jumpers. He would never admit it of course, being the type of man who always dressed immaculately, but he loved the feel of John's jumpers against his skin. John always looked so homely in them, it was a comforting sight. He often teased John about the clothes he wore, but if John ever decided to change his wardrobe he would kick up a fuss, because John had been wearing jumpers since he had known Sherlock, the image of him in a jumper was so John that if he decided to change it would be as if he himself was changing, and John liked the John he already had, his John, the jumper wearing John.

The changing of the seasons meant that during summer John didn't wear his jumpers, Sherlock felt quite lost. This meant that whenever he was alone in the flat he would pull out his favourites from John's wardrobe, either an oatmeal coloured cable knit affair, or the one with blue and white stripes, and cuddle into them, breathing in John's scent and relishing the feel of the soft material against his cheek. He couldn't wear them, fearing he would stretch the fabric, but wrapping the material around him was the next best thing. Sherlock Holmes was having a love affair with John Watson's jumpers.

There was something quite comforting about seeing John constantly in jumpers, the world was constantly changing, evolving, growing stranger and stranger but John consistently wore jumpers, so having something that stayed the same made Sherlock feel quite safe.

Mrs Hudson liked John's jumpers to; it was nice to see someone dressing appropriately for the weather. Lestrade was a man and didn't really notice such things, Sergeant Donovan thought they were stupid and terribly unstylish, It wasn't till the bomb ripped the swimming pool and John and Sherlock were left fighting for their lives that they realised the jumpers were something more. It was Lestrade who broke the news to Mrs Hudson, he sat watching as he wiped her eyes into a tissue, then saw her clutch one of John's jumpers, here way of holding onto John. For some reason the hospital put Sherlock and John on different wards, Lestrade found this very strange, realising that Sherlock and John, John and Sherlock, and seeing them separated was just weird. There was an ongoing joke in Scotland Yard about how long it would take before Sherlock and John would start shagging each other. It started off as just friendly banter, a giggle between colleagues but now Lestrade realised how deep their relationship was, and suddenly it wasn't so funny anymore. He kept checking on Mrs Hudson after work, keeping her updated about their condition, and he liked her, she gave him tea and cake and he enjoyed going round there. He tried to remain upbeat 'they will be solving cases and shooting your walls in no time' he didn't share his uneasiness at Sherlock and John being so separate, he knew it was a sappy thought, and as a Inspector he had to keep his feet on the ground, even though in his mind the idea was a clear as day. Then one day he found lying on Mrs Hudson's sofa, a suit jacket wrapped round a jumper, and he knew Mrs Hudson was feeling exactly the same way, and this was her way of keeping them together.

'It's a conference Sherlock, I'll be back Monday, Sarah is going to, Cardiff is not that far away, I'll ring you everyday' John had said these words a thousand times.

As the words echoed round his head he packed for the weekend away, he carefully folded a jumper into his bag the paused before taking it out and putting it on his bed. Sherlock would need it a lot more then he would.


	11. K is for Kissing

**I wrote this to get rid of Atlin Merricks tummy ache. I hope after reading this you will feel better hun xx**

**K is for Kissing. **

When Sherlock was six he went for a walk in the countryside. He was gone for hours, walking in the meadows and trees, then suddenly he realised it was getting late and he couldn't remember the way home. He was lost. His parents realising their son was missing his parents sent out a search party, they eventually found Sherlock after a panicked search, Sherlock's mother grabbed her son and pulled him into a big hug, wiping his tears away and gave him a big kiss. This was his first memory of kissing.

When he was at university he kissed a girl then a boy, just to satisfy his curiosity. With his looks it wasn't hard to find volunteers. He found them wet and slightly disappointing. So he never kissed anyone again, not till he met John.

At first he thought there was two types of kissing, a peck when you are greeting someone you are fond of, a family member or a close friend. Then there was the romantic type of kissing when you wanted to have sex with someone. It wasn't till he met John that he realised just how big a gap there was in his knowledge.

With John there were so many different types of kisses.

There was the morning kiss, the one where John gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips when he woke up, this kiss was always done when John was half asleep, it was quick, lazy and full of morning breath, but to Sherlock it was the sweetest kiss in the world, knowing that the first thing John wanted to do when he woke up was kiss him gave him a fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Another was the 'You may experiment but I forgive you kiss' when Sherlock would conduct an experiment, blow something up or leave body parts in the fridge next to the food, despite having his own special shelf. John would yell at him, Sherlock would pout then John would laugh and kiss him like he was some crazy fool, which in many ways he was.

A very common one was the reunion kiss, John would be at work, or Sherlock on a case and they would be apart, but when they reunited they would crash their lips together. Enjoying being reminded of the others touch. John never realised how much he loved kissing Sherlock till he was away from him. Coming back to his kiss was the same feeling that someone returning home from a long trip abroad felt.

There was the 'I need you, I want you kiss', where they didn't so much as kiss but consume each other, tongues would explore, moans would escape from mouths, the kiss was full of passion and desire, all teeth, tongues and spit, it was the type of kiss that could set things alight.

After that came the post coital 'I've just fucked you, you've just fucked me and now I am the happiest man on earth kiss'. They would lie together after a dam good shag, because they would both be exhausted this kiss had little movement, it was just crushing their lips together, just used to reassure the other that they were there.

There were the exploring kisses, simple pecks that were placed on jaws, cheeks, foreheads, tummy's necks, used to explore the other's body. Sherlock could spend his life kissing this way, savouring John's taste, how John's skin felt. John loved kissing this way, Sherlock so rarely let anyone close to him, let alone kiss him in such a way.

Another was the absent minded kisses that John did, whenever they were lying on the sofa, cuddled up together John would kiss the top of Sherlock's head every now and again, running his hand through Sherlock's hair, Sherlock wasn't even sure John realised he was doing it, he wanted to believe that it was subconscious, that he was such a part of John that he was being kissed without John even realising he was doing it.

'The to hell with it kiss' was another favourite of Sherlock's, John was always uncomfortable with PDA's so when they were in public, and something good happened, such as a case had been solved or John got someone well known to take a picture with him, John would forget his inhibitions and pull Sherlock into a kiss, it always made his day, no matter how many crimes he would go on to solve.

John would never admit it, but the 'let's piss of Anderson kiss' was something he adored, it was simple, Anderson would make snide remark about John, normally that he was crazy for falling for a sociopath, Sherlock would do something brilliant and Anderson would get pissed off, John loved seeing the look on Anderson's face when this happened, so much so that he insisted on kissing Sherlock

Due to Sherlock's dislike of his brother, the 'let's give Mycroft a show kiss' was created and practiced nearly every day. John wasn't so keen on the enthusiasm Sherlock had for snogging him so hard while his brother was spying on his, but Sherlock was too dam irresistible to ignore.

Similar to this was the 'I can't resist you screw it if it makes anyone else uncomfortable kiss' which was another favourite of Sherlock's, Often practiced in front of cab drivers, Lestrade, even Mrs Hudson. He knew John was never one for kissing in public, let alone in front of people they knew, but sometimes his body needed Sherlock so badly he ignored his head and listened to what his mouth wanted.

'The 'I kiss you just because you are here and you are mine kiss' they could do it all day, in the flat, secretly when they were alone at Bart's, everywhere. It wasn't the most passionate looking kiss, but it was sweet and John loved that he could just lean in and Sherlock would respond.

Then there was the 'thank you for being normal just this once kiss' If Sherlock made him a cup of tea in the morning, or actually tidied up or did some shopping, which was hardly ever, John would be so shocked that he couldn't formulate words, so he just kissed Sherlock.

Finally there was the 'thank god you are alive kiss' If John or Sherlock found themselves in a life or death situation, or Sherlock or John had been returned to the other in one piece where instant death seemed imminent, this kiss would happen. They kissed as if the other was their own personal oxygen supply, kissing just to reassure themselves that their boyfriend was here and had not being taken away from them.

Sherlock loved kissing John, he often wondered how he managed to live so long without doing it, the different types of kisses was something Sherlock would never delete this information from his brain.


	12. L is for Love

**I should have mentioned ages and ages ago that this fic is not in chronological order *face palm* **

**This Chapter was really hard to write, and I should warn you it comes with a fairly big dose of our old friend angst. I'm not sure my limited writing skills have entirely pulled it of but let me know what you think. xxxx**

**L is for Love**

Three words. Three syllables. Eight letters and a heck of a lot of problems. Saying I love you was a complete minefield.

John Watson has said 'I love you' before, heck a few of those times he even meant it. But no one compared to Sherlock, who was fast becoming the love of his life. This time he really wanted to say it, it just suddenly struck him one day that he had never said those three words to Sherlock, and he wanted to, as if taking those words from his head and putting them into the air made them more real somehow.

He knew that there was no way Sherlock would be surprised by his feelings; it was just one of those types of relationships where the love seemed never to be in doubt. One could not exist without the other, of course they were in love, and if this wasn't love then John had no idea what love was, so surely actually telling Sherlock it would be easy, right? However, like every other relationship, saying it for the first time was quite a big deal, but the way he felt about Sherlock was just so blindingly obvious, he imagined it being the equivalent of telling Sherlock he was man, or that he breathed in oxygen and exhaled carbon dioxide. Of course Sherlock knew he loved him. This was going to be so simple.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

* * *

John had cooked tea, well by cook he heated up some leftover risotto and poured them each a glass of wine. Sherlock wasn't on a case so agreed to actually eat. The talked quietly for a bit, then John just couldn't take the pressure anymore and just blurted his feelings out.

'I love you' He said with a mouthful of risotto, it was so unromantic no wonder Sherlock raised an eyebrow at him.

The younger man began toying with his now empty wine glass 'John, no one has ever told me they loved me before.' He mumbled.

John was stunned 'What about your parents? Mycroft?'

Sherlock gave a casual shrug 'My family are not like that, I know they love me, but they are not very open emotionally I guess. Besides they love me because I am their son, or their brother, they don't love me because I am Sherlock Holmes.' John caught a glimpse of just how hollow Sherlock's life had been.

'Well, I love you Sherlock, very, very much' John reached for Sherlock's hand, he felt Sherlock muscles tense. There was a long pause, John felt the room turn unbearably tense and he wasn't sure why.

'I'm sorry John, I can't do this' Sherlock got up from the table and almost flew across the flat.

'Sherlock, Sherlock!' John called after him Sherlock grabbed his coat and ran out the flat. By the time John had put his shoes and coat on Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

He had to find him, he wasn't going to give up, he had walked around London for what felt like hours, it was beginning to get dark. John shivered in his coat, trying to shield himself from the rain which was getting more and more heavy with each passing minute, John felt that the Atlantic was currently being poured on top of his head. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, he stared at it for less the five seconds before breaking into a run.

_Regents Park_

_MH_

He found him, in the middle of the park, just standing there, staring up at the sky. No one around him, his black coat made him melt into the dreary sky.

'Sherlock, come home, please' John pleaded.

Sherlock shook his head.

'Do you still love me?' Sherlock still had his back to John.

'Yes'

'Then no'

'Why?' Sherlock finally turned to face him. The rain had soaked him, water droplets collecting themselves on his hair and face. God he looked irresistible, John wished he could look like that in the rain, he guessed he currently looked like a drowned cat.

'This cannot last John, you love me now when everything is new, when all I have to do is look you in the eyes and you fall apart, but what about months, maybe years down the line? Do you honestly think things will stay the way they are now? There is a reason people do not fall in love with sociopaths. This little bubble we have, it won't last, it cannot last, I think you want more then I can give you. I tried to forget these fears, than you blurt out that you love me, it's gone too far, we should stop it, before we cannot'

'No'

'Why'

'I love you Sherlock' his voice cracked and it took all the energy in the world just to say the four short words.

'You're just saying that, it's just lust, just the chemistry in your brain' he shook his head.

'No it isn't, I know what I feel, stop telling me how I feel' John hissed at him.

'But you can't be in love with me'

That was it, John had had enough

'Stop making this about me Sherlock, it's about you, you are simply doubting yourself, no one has ever told you they love you before, you tell everyone you are a sociopath and everyone goes on and on that you are not a proper human being, but I see straight through you and that freaks you out. Well guess what I love you, I fucking worship the ground you walk on you great big idiot, so rather than behaving like a spoilt child, why don't you act like an adult for once and deal with this situation properly' John was waving his arms about in such a dramatic fashion Sherlock wondered if he might hit him.

'I love you Sherlock bloody Holmes, please get that through your thick fucking skull, I love your experiments, I love that you leave body parts in the fridge I love the way you look at me sometimes like I'm totally crazy, I love that you're a genius but I'm the one person you let close to you, I love waking up with you in the morning , I love that laugh you give me, I love the way you look at me the way you look at no one else, I love that when you look at me and you make me feel like I'm the only man that exists. I love that when I'm around you I forget to breath. I love you because I'm a total wreck without you, I love you because without you all I'm doing is killing time, with you I'm alive, stop looking at me like are over Sherlock, we are so far from over ' John couldn't believe he was pouring his heart out to the one person he thought knew him better than anyone while the rain was soaking him to the bone and making him shiver.

'But John, what if one day you will want to leave, what if it all gets too much you decide to settle down and have horribly adorable children? I can't deal with that, it's better to end it now' he protested.

'Sherlock, tomorrow I might get run over by a bus, no one knows what the future holds, not even you, this relationship may crash and burn, it may last forever, but it will never work if you push me away, it should be my choice and I choose you' There was a long pause, Sherlock staring at him with such a wounded expression that John he reached out a hand cupped Sherlock's cheek

'I regret a lot of things Sherlock, things I have done, things I wish I had done, but not for one moment will I ever regret falling in love with you'

Sherlock nodded his teeth chattering

'You may doubt yourself, you may feel that I am too good for you, but I am an ex army doc with a psychosomatic limp who can't let go of the battlefield despite the fact he has nightmares of it, we are both broken, both living lives on the fringes, but maybe, maybe we can find redemption in each other'

'You are not giving up on me are you?'

'Never'

Sherlock leaned in against John's hand and nodded 'I-I-I l-l-l-o-o-v-e-e y-y-y-o-o-o-u' he spluttered.

'Then come back to me' John crashed their lips together, they stood kissing in the rain, shivering as the rain fell over them, the water sinking into their clothes. The entire world forgotten around them.

* * *

They undressed each other, peeling the wet clothes of the other. Leaving their clothes in a wet pile on the floor. John had seen him naked so many times but Sherlock couldn't help but feel very exposed, as if John was looking right past his skin into his very soul. Sherlock towered over John but he couldn't help but feel so very small, he leaned on John the way he had never relied on anyone else.

John led Sherlock to the bed, they began to kiss, running their hand over the other, pressing their chests and erections together.

'I want you Sherlock'

'I know'

'No I mean I really want you' John held Sherlock head and he immediately understood what John meant.

'Are you sure?'

John nodded 'very, I want this, I need this'

Sherlock lubed up a finger then prepared John, he gently pushed it inside, he opened John up before adding a second. The feeling of Sherlock's fingers inside him was strange at first, slightly uncomfortable but not entirely unpleasant. Then Sherlock found something deep inside John, his fingers rubbing against something that made him gasp and writhe and moan in pleasure. It made his head spin. He had never felt anything like it. Sherlock's mouth never left John's and all he could do was whimper into Sherlock's mouth, Sherlock couldn't believe he was having this effect on John.

'Touch yourself John, touch yourself for me' So he did, it didn't take him long before the hot liquid spilled over his stomach, he groaned as Sherlock removed his fingers. Then he bent down and licked all the cum of John's stomach. John loved feeling of Sherlock's hot, wet tongue along the soft skin of his stomach. Sherlock consuming part of him, the act was shockingly intimate.

Despite having a mind blowing orgasm it wasn't enough, his body mourned Sherlock. His body needed Sherlock, he felt as if he couldn't breathe unless Sherlock touched him, as if he would curl up and die if Sherlock didn't make love to him right that very second.

'Now Sherlock, now please'

Sherlock tore open the condom wrapper, breathing in the familiar scent of latex. He grabbed the lube and slicked himself and John up. He placed a pillow under John to get a better angle. John wore an expression of total lust and fear at what was to come, remembering when losing his own virginity to John he tried copy the comforting words John has spoken to him.

'It's ok, just relax' He kissed John in reassurance.

Sherlock started slowly, feeling John's tight around him, Sherlock resisting the urge to lose total control in John. Easing himself bit by bit, as gently as he could. Then he lost it, completely and utterly. He was inside John, actually inside him, he couldn't quite get over this. His hips began to have a mind of their own. His body forgot his minds instructions to take it slow, luckily John didn't seem to mind. Not if the noises he made was anything to go by.

'Oh John'

'Oh Sherlock'

The rest wasn't even in English.

Sherlock came and collapsed next to John, his energy entirely spent, it had been a strange day, but perhaps the greatest day of his life, someone loved him. Someone was in love with him, because they wanted to, because he was Sherlock Holmes.

'Oh John, I love you I love you I love you'


	13. M is for Music

M is for Music 

1. To play, you turn on whatever music player you use and put it on Shuffle.  
2. Start writing based on the TITLE of each song that plays.  
3. You start when the song starts and stop when it's over.  
No going back to change things (except typos and such, of course) or add new sentences on, once the song is done.  
4. Post the title of the song, the artist and the length of the song.

How to disappear completely. Radiohead. 5.56.

The first time Sherlock knew he loved John was waking up on a hard hospital bed the night after the explosion in the pool. John had fallen into a coma after they had pulled him from the wreckage of the swimming pool. He assumed John would die, of course John would die no one could survive that. He felt the loss and suddenly felt incredibly alone. He wanted John to be here, his John, to wake up so they could go back to the flat and John would start complaining about one of his experiments or the smell coming from the fridge. But now John was gone, and a world without John was not a world Sherlock wanted to be in. He wanted to shrink himself down and live in the past, the memories he had with John, running around London. All he could do was lie in a hospital bed and mourn the only friend he had in the world.

Man on the Moon. REM. 5.15

'Not this ago' 'Please don't tell me you deleted the moon landings' 'it's not important' 'it's the moon landings!' The argument carried on like this for a while. John hated it when Sherlock just deleted information from his brain. Not knowing something that was just so blindingly obvious, like the earth went round the sun, or that a man had landed on the moon made Sherlock seem less human somehow and he already looked like an alien. Why the hell am I going out with Sherlock Holmes, surely I could pull someone infinitely better, John thought this sometimes, but then he knew he never would leave Sherlock, they belonged together, like salt and pepper, marmite and toast, scones and jam. He often joked that it was his responsibility to keep Sherlock on the straight and narrow, but, and this was his biggest secret that he told no one, he loved Sherlock just the way he was.

All the Wine. The National. 3.19

John liked the really woozy feeling that wine gave him. He also loved the feeling, when you drink enough that suddenly the world just becomes infinitely better, that you could take everything on, that nothing could stop you, and everyone is on your side. Sherlock didn't understand wine, he hated anything that clouded his brain, but he loved drinking with John, he loved that John would laugh at his jokes, and that he would tell him that he loved him and would never leave Baker street. That no one ever loved anyone the way he loved him and that he couldn't wait to go home and have messy drunken sex. It was always worth the hangover in the morning.

So here we are. Bloc Party. 3.53

Mycroft clicked his laptop shut, so my brother and John Watson he thought to himself, upgrading their surveillance had yielded some very interesting results. He never thought his baby brother would ever find anyone, he had always insisted to being alone. Now he had found someone, Mycroft like his choice, he liked John, he was dependable, reliable, brave, exactly what his brother needed. Ever since he was shown a crying baby and told that this was his brother Mycroft had just wanted him to be happy and he knew Sherlock would be happy with John, sickeningly happy, he would be intolerable.

Neighbourhood 1 (tunnels) Arcade Fire. 4.48

Sherlock often forgot that he had a life before John, most of the time he forgot there was a world outside of the one he shared with the doctor, if there was one he didn't want to acknowledge it. John had come into his life and turned everything around, inside out, upside down, even if he could he never wanted anything to go back to the way he was. When they first got together they hid in 221B, created their own little cocoon, not going out, not seeing anyone, just staying inside with each other. Mrs Hudson eventually found them cuddled up on the sofa angry that life had to continue. So Sherlock went back to his cases, John went back to the surgery. 'We'll always have 221B' John joked, Sherlock raised an eyebrow and John made a mental note to rent Casablanca.

The Eraser. Thom Yorke. 4.55

Even by his own standards Sherlock had a fucked up relationship with Moriarty, they needed the other, two sides of the same coin, could only exist because the other did. Sherlock could never be without Moriarty from now on, even though Moriarty was as bad as bad could get, Sherlock had a strange fascination with him. If John didn't know any better he would say he admired him. Even if he had the chance Sherlock would never kill Moriarty, it would be like killing a part of himself, a part that he could never run away from, life would be so painfully dull without him, Sherlock was also pretty confident that Moriarty wouldn't kill him, so they just continued to dance around each other.

Wave of Mutilation The Pixies 2.06

'Not this song again' Sherlock complained

'What' John protested 'this is a good song!' Sherlock shook his head.

'The pixies. We could be listening to Classic FM'

'Yeah, or you playing the violin...badly'

'Better than your air guitar' Sherlock pouted, he could play the violin very well thank you very much. The longer he and John were together the more they bickered like an old married couple, thank god the sex was good.


	14. N is for Need

N is for Need

John needed Sherlock, there was something in Sherlock that just made John's body crave him and respond to the slightest of things. This is fine when they were alone in the safety of 221B, but anywhere else and it just inappropriate. John wished his body would listen to him, but it seemed to only exist for Sherlock. Sometimes he wished it wouldn't, his life would be a lot easier.

John was at the surgery one day. He had finally finished explaining to a overprotective mother that it really was just a cold her baby had, and that as long as the play-doh was non toxic he would be fine, he quickly checked his phone before sending for the next patient.

4 new messages.

_Bored-SH_

_Very bored-SH_

_We may need a new toaster-SH_

_Come home I need you-SH_

John rolled his eyes and tapped out a quick reply.

_I'm at work-JW _He pressed the buzzer to call his next patient in, immediately his phone buzzed again.

_So?-SH_

_My patients need me-JW_

_I need you-SH _

There was a knock at the door.

'Come in' The door opened and in came a little old lady.

'Hello doctor'

'Hi Mrs Rogers is this about you hip?' he asked in his best doctorly tone as she took a seat opposite his desk.

'Yes it's still playing up, just the other day I was out with my son Peter and I could barely move' She continued to tell him about her hip when his phone buzzed again. He dug it out of his pocket and placed it on top of his notes, which were located on his lap, so it was hidden from view.

_Are you hard for me?-SH_

John tried not to blush. All his instincts told him to ignore Sherlock but his body had other ideas so when he received another text he couldn't help but look.

_I'm hard for you, I'm touching myself and imagining it's you, thinking of all the things we could do if you were here-SH_

John tried to stop himself, but all the blood in his brain rushed south.

'Are you okay doctor you are looking quite flushed?' Dam, he had totally forgotten about Mrs Rogers and her hip.

'Yes fine' He squeaked, then coughed and tried to lower his voice 'fine'. Luckily he could hide his erection under the desk, but he wrapped his white coat around himself just to make sure Mrs Rogers couldn't see.

'Are you sure your okay Doctor? Is there something in my notes'

And if things couldn't get any worse his phone buzzed again.

One picture received.

It was of Sherlock wearing only his pyjama bottoms which were currently round his knees, back arched, eyes closed, mouth open, hand...

He tried to snap himself out of it, but he couldn't.

'Could you excuse me for a sec?' He jumped of his chair making sure the notes covered his problem. 'Here, read this I won't be a moment' He threw some leaflet at Mrs Rogers, god knows what it was.

He ran to the bathroom closed the door behind himself and freed himself, he stared at the picture Sherlock had sent and began to stroke himself, luckily it didn't take long before he came in his hand. He allowed himself a few minutes to compose himself before returning to his patient.

'Right, now where were we?' he beamed, Mrs Rogers was flicking through the leaflet John had given her.

'This is very interesting reading doctor' it was about erectile dysfunction. John could only laugh.


End file.
